A Song (for Him)
by Pace is the trick
Summary: Aro and Carlisle in Volterra. No slash. Rated Mature for thematic content.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Once upon a time, I wrote stories about the Volturi. Once long ago I planned this very fic in which Carlisle was in Volterra with Aro. And once I even imagined Aro alive in the time of Jesus Christ, _with_ Jesus. (That one earned me several cocked eyebrows from good friends.) I appreciate that this sounds incredibly blasphemous and many of you will now race to denounce me in your comments public and private, but believe me when I say that I mean no offense. I am Jewish, and like many of my tribe, _curious_ about the others. As a Jew, I do not believe that Jesus was anything more than a great man and I find myself asking repeatedly, "Why did this one take, stick through the ages, when none of the others did?" I know what your response will be if you are a believer! And we will simply have to agree to disagree on that point.

This is a provocative topic, I know. But in the era when people write everything from incest to bestiality, I find my attempts to make sense of those past events that led to the religious strife of today rather innocuous. So I am taking my favorite vehicles, Aro and Carlisle, on a little trip through history to study the man who has had such a tremendous impact on the world as we know it.

Here, then, in the great tradition of Jewish prayer from which came the Catholic Divine Offices, is his song.

_Note on format: I originally intended this as a comprehensive fic but quickly realized that while some things would only work well in the present tense, others had to be in the past. I toyed with various ideas on how best to resolve the problem and then said, screw it, I'll just do drabbles again. It worked so well for Ivo! So please do not be surprised by the changes of tense. Each "chapter" will be a Prayer - Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline, and the Night Office, sometimes referred to as Vigils, which will be a series of nocturns. Following the Liturgy of the Hours, I am starting with the nocturns and will end with them as well. Full circle and all that._

I don't own Carlisle or Aro or any of these others.

Happy reading!

~Pace is the trick

_For Steph, who was the real creator_

**A Song (for Him)**

_**Matins**_

He finds them with little trouble. He's an awkward young vampire and his blunders entertain them. Demetri spots him first, hailing his arrival as the court jester.

"A new friend in town," he reports in his most amused tone. "He was walking and _reading _- " and here, dear reader, you must imagine the expression on his face at Carlisle with his nose in a book! "- and almost stepped out into the sun."

Aro tsks. He's heard much of the vampire who shuns his own kind.

"Shall I bring him to you or wait and see what he does next?" It's been so long since they have had genuine comedy in their ranks.

"Bring him, bring him," Aro trills with an airy wave of his royal hand. "Let us see what we make of the vampire who is not."

Caius snarls in disdain, utterly unamused.

o0o0o0o0o

It's the third night in Italy when Carlisle makes their acquaintance. Demetri and Felix drop from the roof in front of him. Carlisle looks mildly surprised. (_Everything_ about him is mild, indeed the antithesis of a vampire.) But that in itself is notable. Vampires are never surprised. Their heightened senses make them keenly aware of others in their presence. How he could have missed...

Felix is astonished.

"Welcome, fortunate Friend," Demetri drawls. "And what brings you to our little corner of the world?" The High Court of vampire society is hardly a "little corner" but this is lost on Carlisle.

"I'm looking for Aro," he says earnestly and the two others commence to howl like fiends possessed, heads flung back, teeth bared, the roar rushing from their vocal chords to ricochet off the ancient stone walls of the alley way. The noise is deafening but the locals attribute it to a seasonal gale though the city lies far from the sea. One of the many contradictions of this strange place that no mere mortal dares to question.

Now it is Carlisle's turn to be surprised. He can't imagine he's said anything that entertaining. "I was told he lived here," he stammers, now very uncertain of himself.

"You've come to the right place," Felix finally manages.

Demetri is still struggling to compose himself.

o0o0o0o0o

Aro is positively gleeful and can scarcely remain seated. He smells him – that odd _wrong_ scent of animal blood in the immortal vessel. It makes others curl their noses but Aro is far too interested to be repulsed. He loves anomalies. His tiny restless feet tap a pattern on the floor which Marcus recognizes as a little-known piece by Alessandro Striggio, he of the Medici court.

The Volturi walk in the highest of circles.

"My Lord," Demetri gives an exaggerated bow while Carlisle is still spellbound by the opulence surrounding him. It literally surpasses anything he has ever seen before and he has been in some pretty places. The grandeur puts contemporary mankind's feeble attempts to shame. No museum in the world can hold the multitude of treasure scattered with deliberate carlessness about the room. He feels as if – dare he think it? – he has stepped into Heaven, where only the greatness of mankind is found.

Demetri looks pointedly at Carlisle from his bent position but Carlisle and Aro have already spotted one another. Throwing ceremony aside, Aro reaches eagerly for him, his movement still swift for all his 3000 years.

He seizes Carlisle's hand and closes his eyes in rapture. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" he exclaims, breathless, as if engaged in sexual intercourse. And then his eyes snap open and he peers with an intensity that burns the little man before him. "Welcome! Welcome, Carlisle Cullen, to Volterra."

He's introduced to the others. Marcus and Caius do not rise, Caius doesn't even return the greeting. Marcus inquires placidly about England and France, he has friends there but doesn't travel anymore. Carlisle admits that he hasn't met many other vampires, just one or two strays in the woods.

Marcus is baffled. This is unlike anything he has ever heard before. For a vampire not to stay with others? Where then did he stay? Who was his sire? How could he have been so negligent in young Carlisle's education?_ Had he been improperly reared?_ _One of the wild ones who somehow got away after changing? But he is so civilized, this young Englishman._ And how came he to know their secret location if not through the proper channels?

"A human friend told him of us," Aro purrs happily. It fits so nicely. The human will, of course, be killed for this transgression – for how could a mere human know another's integrity - but it is such an appropriate introduction he is beside himself with joy. "When he was studying medicine in France."

"Medicine?" Caius knows of these things and they have had alchemists in the court but the way it is phrased somehow makes him certain that what Aro means is _human _medicine.

"Our Dr. Cullen is a minister to the poor!" Aro can't get over his good fortune. He could spend eternity with this enigma.

"I've been working in rural areas," Carlisle's Italian is catching on but it still has a heavy accent and he hasn't quite mastered the emphasis so he winds up stressing the wrong syllable. "Introducing hygiene to miners."

You could literally knock Marcus and Caius over with the plume of Aro's pen. Felix and Demetri are once again in stitches. The rest of the assembly is uncertain whether to take their cue from Aro, who adores the new arrival, or join in merriment of what is the most pitiful excuse for a vampire they have ever seen. As a result, they stand frozen, which further alarms poor Carlisle. He now thinks he has fallen in with madmen. Having spent some time in a human asylum, this is not unfamiliar to him. But vampires are stronger than humans. And that makes his position here vulnerable. He is very grateful the leader appears to like him, even if this man may be the maddest of them all.

"Mad, mad, yes we are all mad," Aro chants happily but he sends a stern glance of warning to his brothers. Marcus sighs and goes back to looking at his hands, the lines of which have been his old friends these many lonely years. Caius looks out to the crowd in the hall and cocks an eyebrow so that they are clear on his assessment of Aro's new favorite.

"Come with me, Carlisle Cullen, come with me," Aro beckons in his very best English, a soft enunciation of sounds so sharp for Romantic speakers.

And Carlisle has no choice but to follow.

o0o0o0o0o

His rooms are exquisite – a bed fit for a king (Aro tells him it belonged to Louis XIV) and carpets from the palaces of Turkish sultans. ("That one," Aro points to the other end of the cavernous room, "belonged to Mehmed the Conquerer." Carlisle is suitably impressed. This pleases his host, who longs for someone to share his admiration for history and art.)

The paintings are all originals. DaVinci and such. Little throw-away sketches that have been lovingly framed and preserved for posterity.

There are ancient wooden and stone tools, an entire wall from an Egyptian temple. Gold urns and etched pottery and even painted animal hides. Weavings of grasses and silks. Barely any room to walk.

And then there is the reading material. "Not much here," Aro says dismissively. "You must see the Library."

_"Library?" _He is all eyes.

o0o0o0o0o

Imagine that you have studied in every great library in the Old World. London, Paris, Vienna. Imagine that you held in your very hands the original papers of the greatest thinkers of your time (the year is 1720, for the record).

Now just imagine discovering something that makes all of that pale by comparison.

The obligatory Greeks. Homer's _Margites. _But so much more! The Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. The Book of the Battles of HaShem. Writings referenced but discarded, viewed perhaps as dangerous or non-essential for the canon.

Carlisle's superior brain is unable to take it all in.

On the far wall is a wooden cross. It is simply enormous, isolated there away from anything else, and Carlisle can't decide its purpose. It might just be a mockery of all that he believes in, vampire humor for his source of strength and right. Still, he cannot but ask. It simply can't be overlooked.

Aro slyly watches, waiting for the little one to find his voice.

"And wherever did you find that?" Carlisle finally manages.

"That," Aro drawls in a seductive tone, "is a most remarkable story. About a man I once knew in the Holy Lands."

o0o0o0o0o


	2. Chapter 2

_**-Matins**_

"Stretch out my life

And pick the seams out

Take what you like

But close my ears and eyes

Watch me stumble

Over and over."

~ Mumford and Sons, _Lover of the Light_

_How to account for such violent emotions and the contradictions therein? Anger, regret, fear, nostalgia. A profound sadness has settled on me, nay, heartbreak. What an odd thing! For heartbreak implies love. And yet I suppose love him I did for he is the only one who ever loved me and the only one to whom I ever bared my soul. How now that we are enemies? _

_What ending had I foreseen for us? Too lost in the merriment of his company, I blinkered my eyes and saw only what I wished, believed only what I desired. I imagined we would go on together. Eternally. And yet so fundamentally different to one another. But I did change him! How else could he have professed his acceptance of all I cherish? His respect for me is undeniable. He listens to me. Or - did he change me? Has my knowing more strengthened or weakened my resolve?_

~ from the journals of C.C., 9th February, 1861

_**The Second Nocturn**_

Days _weeks months years _ fly by and Carlisle hardly notices. Aro takes him across Eastern Europe – Romania!, with its ancient civilizations devoted to immortals and its Roman legacy; north to the Arctic circle and the marvels of a world of ice; south again through the Russian Empire to the steppes of Siberia; on to China and the magnificent Wall. The older vampire is an excellent tour guide; he'd witnessed much of the events himself.

Born into a noble Etruscan family, it was after his death – "My _real _birth," he gently stresses – that he began to hobnob with the wealth and power of the great kingdoms. His sheer physical prowess and mental acuity established him as indispensable for any inter-commerce or military action. He was financier, cartographer, translator, impresario of the fine arts and fashion to princes and emperors alike. Monarchs hailed him as an equal in counsel and those who crossed him were deposed.

Carlisle doesn't inquire as to _how _exactly. It's enough to know that Aro had a hand in killing others. The Englishman feels a tremor in his dead heart but quickly reminds himself that some leaders need to be removed from power and beheading is the only way to make certain they don't re-surface as a future political problem. He'd seen plenty of that in his lifetime. And when it comes down to it, he himself is not without guilt.

His mentor chuckles at his moral dilemma. "Once I took out an entire Roman garrison!" He rolls his eyes at his own stupidity. "I only had Caius and a handful of newborns. It was a massacre! Did you ever read about Scipio Africanus? I always admired him!"

As they meander the continents, Aro tells him of his acquaintances. "Eleazar I found during the Spanish expulsion of Jews in Spain. He'd been attacked by a mob, left for dead. Fools! They handed me my greatest asset!"

Carlilse reflects on that. He's never met Eleazar but Aro's profound admiration for the one who can sense talent even in humans weighs on him. Jews are the sworn enemy of his faith, the killers of his Christ. And Aro has one in his fold. He's troubled by the admission but holds his tongue. Alliances are a strange thing. One's mortal enemy one instant can become one's most trusted ally the next. The play of politics is convoluted and he is still learning the game.

0o0o0o0o

In Egypt they go to the Pyramids and Carlisle longs to hear the stories. Aro is a wonderful story teller and he knows this version will be far better than the Biblical account.

"No, no!" Aro laughs. "I would not deprive my friend of that pleasure." He takes Carlisle to meet Amun and his family.

The Egyptian vampires are the oldest known, dating back before the birth of Abraham. Now only four in number, they have lived peacefully up and down the Nile River Valley for more than three thousand years. They know the history of this land like the backs of their own hands. They have watched civilizations come and go and mentally recorded it for posterity. Aro visits sporadically over the centuries to gather information from them for his own records. But while he calls Amun "friend", Carlisle senses they are less than welcome here.

Amun recalls the Old Kingdom as if it was only yesterday – the building of the pyramids; the magnificent lighthouse of Alexandria, three tiers – square, octagonal and circular – constructed from light-colored stone that rested on red granite; the ancient library, the pride of Grecian culture. ("It was Amun who helped to rescue the scrolls from the great fire," Aro tells Carlisle in an undertone.)

The young vampire has held many of those papyruses in his hands. What happy hours those were! But he has other things in mind for Amun and diverts his attention back to that era that interests him most. "Did you witness the miracles?" he asks eagerly. As a child it had been his favorite part of the Bible, the only book he was permitted to read back then.

Amun laughs loudly. "Witness! It was I who goaded him on! Simple tricks turning water red and making snakes stiffen and bend."

Carlisle listens attentively. It makes sense that gifted vampires could match the early marvels. But they could never have produced hail and darkness. That surely is proof of the Almighty!

There is more laughter and more than one raised eyebrow. Benjamin, the younger man, stands and raises his eyes to the sky. The air grows colder, moisture forms and shortly thereafter hail rains from the sky. He looks back to Carlisle and it stops as suddenly as it began. He lowers his gaze to the ground and a great cloud of dust rises, bombarding the vampire's keen vision with particles.

Carlisle is unconvinced. "Locusts? Frogs?" he demands in a stubborness worthy of Pharoah.

"Man will soon discover how his foolishness brings pests and plagues," Amun continues. "You have seen plagues in your time. Do you understand now that man's fear of black cats allowed the vermin to multiply and spread disease? Man is his own worst enemy."

Aro sighs, concurring.

"But what of the Exodus?" Carlisle persists. He doesn't ask any more about the plagues. It doesn't matter to him what these vampires can do. He knows his God works in mysterious ways.

"Yes, they left in droves. Into the desert." Amun gestures away. "We didn't follow. The sun is so hot, even for us. And the stench of death is never pleasant."

"They _died_?" Carlisle gasps.

"All humans die," Amun mocks him, but he isn't cruel. He's interested in this believer.

"But they continued! To Canaan. They arrived there!" It makes no sense that they died in the desert. God would not forsake His people so.

"I believe that was considerably later," Aro interjects drily. "A new generation."

"Oh. I see." And Carlisle lapses into silence at his own foolishness.

"You are seeking answers, young one," Amun eyes him pityingly. "I hope what you find makes it easier for you."

Carlisle stares at him. Implicit in those words is the belief that it will be very much the opposite. He feels a terrible sense of foreboding and remains depressed for the remainder of the time they are there.

0o0o0o0o

They leave at dusk for Palestine. As they walk, Carlisle grumbles that _if only Aro had been present at the Beginning_ and Aro's response is one of pure joy - a hearty thunderous laugh that is infectious. Carlilse can't help but feel better.

"Would that one of ours had thought to record the histories!" Aro moans. "We really have nothing before Amun. His own sire was useless. Our kind was so barbaric back then." He sighs. "At best we have the oral tradition and that was altered time and again to suit the narrator's interests." His distaste for such revisionism is clear. Having to rely on man's history is so very frustrating.

"Where did we come from?" Carlisle is suddenly very interested in vampires. It is the first time he is and Aro has to turn his face away to hide his triumph.

"Different accounts," Aro begins in his purposely languid way.

And he begins. "You know your faith's account of creation, how God made Eve from Adam's rib to bind her to him. But there are other accounts your faith does not discuss. There are in fact _two _creations of Adam's mate in the Bible. Eve is actually the second.

"_So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.  
And God blessed them and God said unto them, Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth and subdue it._

"This is the account the Christians ignore. No, don't bristle!" Aro gives him an affectionately stern look. "I could go into the discussion of Adam looking for a suitable mate among _all the creatures of the Garden of Eden _but I shall spare you that.

"This individual, though not named in the Biblical account, was Lilith, the mother of us all according to many. Some say she was always a demon, Adam's opposite to balance him, some say she became one when she left the Garden. Whatever the case, humankind blames her for many of their problems.

"She was headstrong and refused to bow down to Adam and he punished her. She fled and God sent his angels to reason with her. Again she refused to be cowed and was punished again. Therein began the great war between what your faith calls 'good and evil'. Lilith, of course, being evil.

"She was!" Carlisle says, albeit irrationally.

Aro gives him a paternal condescending look. "For disobeying? How is that 'evil'?"

Carlisle holds his tongue. After all, he defied his own father and was called 'evil' for it. Besides, this story is much too interesting to be interrupted.

"The angels killed Lilith's children for her actions and in retaliation she threatened to kill the children of Adam. Another narration tells that after the angels' departure, Lilith actually did try to return to the Garden. Upon her arrival she discovered that Adam already had another mate, Eve. Angered to the point of revenge, Lilith stole his seed and with it bore more children to replace those killed by the angels.

"But there is another account…" And here Aro peers at Carlisle. "You know the Book of Enoch?"

Carlisle nods. He'd read it in Volterra.

"You recall the first book? The Book of the Watchers."

Carlisle nods again. And suddenly it dawns on him. "Angels and man! We came from that union!"

Aro clears his throat. "That unholy union. Condemned by your Church."

Carlisle gets ready to protest again but stops. This story is more interesting than the last and he doesn't wish to divert his teacher's attention to a fruitless argument.

"The Watchers," Aro continues, "so-called because they never slept, brought man awareness. They gave rise to the generation of heroes of man. Of them none was so great as the son of God Azazel. He taught man the art of war, of melting iron for swords and shields; of the secrets of witchcraft and prophecy to aid them in their campaigns; of the benefit of surprise. Women he recruited for battle as well, instructing them in the art of seduction to lead the enemy astray. So great was he, God himself came to conquer him, binding him hand and foot to trap him on a mountain. It is said he is hidden from us by spells so ancient, even the ancients did not know the incantations. "

"The secret language of God!" Carlisle says excitedly.

Aro just nods. "The others were banished to other regions. And humankind, of course, knowing far more than it should, was destroyed in the Flood." He sighs again, unhappy with the explanation. "The truth is, we have at best a tenuous understanding of those times based on histories recorded, _altered_, by man."

Carlisle ignores him. This is the most comprehensive story he has heard so far and it fits nicely with what he knows from his own Bible.

_When men began to multiply on earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw how beautiful the daughters of man were, and so they took for their wives as many of them as they chose. Then the Lord said: "My spirit shall not remain in man forever, since he is but flesh. His days shall comprise one hundred and twenty years." At that time the Nephilim appeared on earth (as well as later), after the sons of God had intercourse with the daughters of man, who bore them sons. They were the heroes of old, the men of renown._

—Genesis 6:1-4

But he's troubled by one thing. "The Sons of God"? There was only ever one Son of God. He understands now what Aro means about the text being altered over time. He sighs as well. If only Aro had been present at the beginning.

0o0o0o0o

He still feels guilty, even if it is a goat. He's ashamed of his appetites. Aro politely picks dust out from under his long fingernails or stares off into the distance. Feeding is one thing they do not discuss.

He doesn't accompany Aro when that man feeds. He can't. Aro doesn't press the matter, discreetly disappearing sometime in the night and returning at dawn with shining red eyes.

Carlisle's eyes remain golden as the sun that rises in the east.

"What color were they when you were alive?" Aro asks.

"Blue," Carlisle answers, a little surprised.

But he is more surprised by the howl of laughter that shakes the olive branches on the mountain they currently occupy. "What's so funny?"

But Aro is laughing too hard to answer.


	3. Chapter 3

February, 1861

"I was starting to think you were a statue." A pleasant voice interrupted his morose thoughts, making him start.

How nervous he was now, fearful; on the run, no place to call his own. How dull his senses from so many years underground; not even the smell of fresh blood – but he was ravenous! – aroused him.

"Watching the sea", Carlisle gestured with black eyes out to the grey horizon.

"Ah, the mysteries of the sea! The stuff of myth and poetry." The stranger was relaxed enough but clearly very curious, always a bad thing.

Carlisle chuckled. Nervously.

"You seem out-of-place here," his interlocutor remarked, taking out a cigarette and offering one.

The vampire went rigid, then soft, then rigid again. He found himself unable to assume an appropriate pose. Too long had he been among his own kind. Too long had he been out of practice. He declined the cigarette with a series of hand gestures that he felt made him appear spastic and was unable to form any coherent response.

"I had you pegged for an aristocrat," the Italian continued.

"No, no," he was almost hysterical with relief. "Just a simple doctor."

"So you are educated! I thought as much." And the man smiled at the water churning below. He seemed very pleased. "And how came you, sir, to travel with these great unwashed masses?"

Carlisle bristled at the notion of inequality but he understood." Opportunity", he shrugged again." A new world. A new life. A new start. I am ready to try my hand away from the mustiness of Italy."

The man yelped gleefully. "Musty! Yes, well does that word describe our motherland." And then he straightened to give a shallow bow, a formal introduction. "Giovanni Bellini."

The vampire hesitated only a fraction of a second this time before nodding in reply. "Carlisle Cullen." How naturally the sounds slid from his tongue. How easy it suddenly seemed to be himself. He could feel his skin coming back.

"But, sir! You are foreign born!"

"England." Easier with each passing second. He smiled, delighted. "Which is considerably mustier than Italy!" How he once had regarded his adopted country as the bastion of civilization. Could England truly be preferable?

They enjoyed the joke together.

Until –

"You remind me of someone I once knew, " Giovanni remarked and Carlisle jumped back in alarm.

_You remind me of someone I once knew_, Aro had said so very long ago.

* * *

"_If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am not for others, what am I?"_

~ Rabbi Hillel

**Matins: the Third Nocturn**

"You remind me of someone I once knew," Aro says, smiling in his mysterious way.

"That is hardly surprising, given the multitudes you have known." He isn't being impolite; he is just far more interested in where they are.

Which is the southwest corner of the Temple Mount at the foot of the retaining wall. To the East is the Mount of Olives where they pass the days in earnest discussion. To the south the walls of the City of David, that most ancient of fortresses. The southern walls still holds the Huldah gates, doubled and tripled. In Biblical times, these were used as an entrance and exit to the Temple. 'Chuldah', Aro explains, means 'mole' or 'mouse' in Hebrew and that is precisely how the surging human river gushing in and trickling out of the great gates appeared to the observer looking down from great heights, as he himself so often did. The entrances are sealed now, only one of the western gates is partially visible behind a medieval building, and the tiniest of windows over which hangs a remnant of an upside-down stone with a Latin inscription dedicated to the Roman emperor Hadrian.

It is through this window that Aro proposes they go. "It's either that or break through the front of the Dome of the Rock, which would probably offend your artistic sensibilities." Referring to an argument they had had earlier that same evening. Carlisle is respectful of all cultures.

Aro promised to show him aspects of the Temple, things of which no man living knows. It's been centuries and stones and streets have caved in, covering what once was part of the bustling economy around the Temple, the life line of Jerusalem, but the vampire knows it well. Large slabs of stone that took dozens of slaves and cranes days to move are nothing for two vampires. Showing him the way, Aro had placed his forefinger under one and flipped it over.

"Must you?" Carlisle had asked crossly as he stood and moved to the same pile. He carefully lifted a rock, slid under it, and then just as carefully replaced it.

"I assure you time itself will do far greater damage than my little finger," Aro had retorted but he was more careful with the next boulder. "You forget that I have been down here many many times before and that it was I who first moved the boulders. So this is hardly telling of anything your humankind has done."

So they slip through the tiny opening of the western gate where Carlisle discovers that there is a series of tunnels that go deep into the mountain, passing under what was once the royal stoa and then on up to the remains of the Temple of the God of Israel. Aro points through the rubble, telling him that once stood magnificent staircases that make the hike up the side of the pyramid seem short. There is a bit more of rock shifting on the part of Carlisle – Aro merely oversees that task now that he has been reprimanded, calling to him where to place the enormous stones and then return them so that they do not disrupt the future archeological site – and then the huge hollow spaces known as Solomon's Stables are exposed. Likely used for storage they are remarkable for the arch design, which allows for weight distribution that would support a structure as enormous as the Temple. Carlisle waxes lyrical on the accomplishments of ancient engineers - better even than the aqueducts! - and Aro says nothing.

The staircase leading up to the main level is completely in ruins, huge broken slabs that collapsed when the Romans sacked the site in 70 CE or possibly afterwards when they searched for survivors hiding in the caverns. Man's lack of respect for his fellow is deplorable and Aro tuts and tsks and makes his unhappiness known. Wild wolves!

The two vampires could not be more different in what they wish to emphasize in matters human.

It is on this level of the Mount that the great courtyard stood, the place where he first met his human friend. The one of whom Carlisle reminds him, blue eyes and all. He says all of this with heavy emphasis.

Carlisle is examining the carved declivities where ritual bathing took place. Having been brought up in the animal and human filth of London, bathing is sacred. Cleanliness is next to Godliness and all that.

Aro's pouting a bit as Carlisle doesn't ask about his friend. He loves to reminisce and Carlisle knows it and it seems to him only polite that Carlisle should inquire.

Carlisle doesn't ask because he knows what is coming. And sure enough –

"He was young and passionate like you. As impetuous as a newborn. As wild as – " and he pauses for dramatic effect before finishing softly – "your God."

Carlisle no longer responds to the ongoing commentary of his youthful passion. His real father said as much to him in his real life and he's given up trying to be heard. But that last remark –

"God is not 'wild'," he stops dead in his tracks. "How dare you? How dare you compare Him Who created All to some brutish beast that can only destroy?"

Aro strokes his chin with long bejeweled fingers, very pleased with the reaction. "Tell me, Carlisle, if your God is not wild, why has he chosen to such an inhospitable environment for his most favorite of creations? Animals that attack, rivers that drown, sands that bury? A fragile world that shatters!" He runs a nail over the limestone and it turns to sand. "Why does he give Nature such a violent temperament? And why make man so changeable if they are in his image?"

Carlisle is thoughtful for several minutes as he determines how best to explain. "You've heard of the prophet Elijah?"

"I knew the prophet Elijah," Aro says drily.

This may or may not be true, as Carlisle has come to learn so he chooses to ignore it. "Elijah went out to speak with God. He stood on the rock and a great wind came, pulling the loose stones – even the trees! – down around him. The gale was such that its roar was heard throughout the land.

"But the wind did not carry God.

"And following that destruction came a mighty quaking of the earth that leveled mountains all around and swallowed up vast portions so that all who witnessed it quaked as well in fear that they, too, might be swallowed up by the hungry earth.

"But the Lord was not to be found in the earthquake.

"Then came a fire of devastation, scorching blue flames that moved across the land leaving holocaust in their wake. The mountain was charred and bruised and it seemed that nothing would ever grow there again, so desolate was the place.

"But God was not in the fire.

"But in the stillness that followed, Elijah, hiding his head in his mantle within the depths of the cavern, heard a small soft voice calling to him.

"And the voice was God. "

"I see." Aro looks down rather than at him. It's hard to argue with that kind of faith.

"God is in all of us. We are part and parcel of Him. Our task in this life is to bring out that part of us, to suppress the evil – "

"Yes, yes," says Aro, having lost the argument, and he flips another stone so that it shatters on impact.

Carlisle frowns but goes back to moving things.

Carefully.

They will just have to agree to disagree on this point.

0o0o0o0o0o

More digging – _uncovering_– and they are now at the western wall. Carlisle already has a clear picture of the layout of the entire complex just from their brief excavation. There is nothing left from that time: not a single priest's garmet or butcher's knife; neither water bucket or coin. The looters over the centuries have done their job well. There is nothing to tell of the human commotion that once dominated these spaces, the activity that once was Jerusalem. Even the hidden passageway under the Chamber of Wood in the northeast corner of the Women's Courtyard where Jeremiah was said to have hidden Israel's power - the Holy Ark and the tablets, the staff of Aaron, the last portion of manna and the oil Moses used for annointing - is empty. The smell here is dank, rotting wood and humus. No stench of blood and fire but Aro assures him it was very different, quite spectacular in its time.

"Choas," the ancient one says, "particularly during the festivals." He omits that part of the narrative that would interest others – how easy the hunting was with so many pilgrims in town. One had simply to wait by the gates and invariably a child was misplaced. And how tasty the young meat was! He licks his lips and darts a furtive glance at Carlisle. This is one of those topics he broaches carefully with his young companion. He doesn't wish to risk losing the most interesting person he has met in more than a millennium. "Imagine if you will a million strong flooding the gates. The excitement was catching and in the climb many a person was crushed underfoot. And then there were the beasts screaming in terror as they sensed their own death. Cattle, doves, sheep were hauled in one by one, chained to the floor so they could not overpower the holder while their throats were slit. The blood was collected in a silver cup but the animals defecated as well, creating a slippery mess on the stone floor so that people fell and were covered in the filth. Other priests would come forward and drag the dying bodies and hang them on great hooks. The disemboweling usually took place while the creatures were still alive so that the strangled cries were heard by the new sacrificial lambs being brought in." He's quite enjoying the description of such barbaric treatment of lesser creations. He hopes Carlisle is taking the point. "I always marveled that one could make an argument for purity in such squalid conditions."

It's a legitimate point and gives Carlisle pause for thought. Here they are in the midst of holiness. Pilgrims bathed in pools to remove whatever external dirt existed before approaching God to ask for the removal of internal dirt.

"To be 'holy'," he finally says, "is to set oneself apart, to remove oneself from impurity. But as you correctly state, the very process of purification here in the Temple was tainted by the bodily fluids of the animals. No matter that a lamb is unblemished, the process by which it is presented to the Lord is such that it is again made impure. What hypocrisy to argue for sanctification in such unholy conditions." And he quotes the prophet Isaiah:

_"The multitude of your sacrifices- what are they to me?" says the LORD. "I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams and the fat of fattened animals; I have no pleasure in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats._

"And surely that is the message." His golden eyes suddenly widen in excitement. "That we cannot live apart as the Jewish people did. That we must go amongst the unclean to heal them, as the Lord did the lepers. That we must be a light unto the nations with our deeds."

Aro has his back turned but he is likely rolling his eyes.

This one is more than stubborn.

This one may actually be stronger still.

They walk now in the tunnels that were once streets and still have no need of sunlight with their keen vision. They dig some more until they are in the tunnels of eastern wall, past the entrances of shops that once hawked wares to pilgrims and Aro points to Golden Gate, the same one through which Jesus entered the Holy City, the same one through which the prophets say the Messiah will pass when he comes (again). The Muslims have taken the precaution of making a graveyard out front so that no prophet can pass. The contact with the dead would render him ritually impure.

Standing at the sealed entrance, Carlisle requires a moment of reverent prayer at the thrill of being where his Savior passed when He entered Jerusalem to save all of mankind. He's dreamed of this, being able to walk in the footsteps of the Lord God.

At long last they enter the Dome of the Rock where stands the peak of Mount Moriah, the threshing floor of Araunah. It is the Holy of Holies - the rock where Abraham offered up Isaac, where Christ offered Himself up, and where the prophet Mohammed ascended to Heaven.

Isaac, the harbinger of Christ. For just as Isaac carried the wood to build the fire that would be his sacrificial mound, so Jesus carried the cross that would be his.

And God provided the lamb.

Carlisle requires the better part of an hour to stop the flow of bloody tears. Tears of gratitude, joy, despair. To have suffered so much. To have given so much so that others might live.

He's in emotional upheaval once again.

"Was it not all in vain? To give up a life that could have brought about change?" Aro asks when Carlisle has finally gotten control of himself.

"Nothing was in vain," Carlisle says quietly, "and the change brought about was tremendous."

"Was it?" Aro sounds genuinely surprised. "I can't say the world is any different. Oh it looks different, certainly, but the culture of man continues to be one of murderous greed and waste. Did any everlasting change come about from this? Hmmm. I do not think so. Perhaps your God did not think that one through. Or perhaps it was your Christ." And his eyes gleam in a menacing way.

"Do not provoke me, Aro, for I am tired." And he is. Tired from the journey, tired of questions, tired of searching. He wants something handed to him. Something easy.

"Well, sir, I shall tell you something of your God, your Christ," the older vampire says cruelly. He hates losing an argument. "For I knew him better than I know you, that one you call Lord. And for the record the cross you admired in my chambers was the very one on which he willingly _foolishly_ died."

Carlisle stands down, too horrified to speak.


End file.
